Child Without An Eye

An Ending (Ascent) - Eno - Switzerland - Lauterbrunnen - Stechelberg - Frau Graf

2020-05-06T21:50:00.001+01:00

This is what I listened to hiking on my own in the Swiss Alps when I reached the end of the trail up high, alone, surrounded by glaciers and hearing occasional rock falls, lay on my back headphones on, smoked a ciggie * That night lying in Frau Graf's bunk house which had last been renovated in the 1960s, lying there in the cosy Goldilocks row of the communal bunkbed and mildly hallucinating from the altitude, fresh air and excercise - this music was with me as an aural memory imprint passing in ever present waves until sleep overcame me.

Olympic Stratford

2019-02-10T20:25:00.000+00:00

Contemplate Stratford Olympic site.
Once waste ground.
Chemical dump.
Industrial estate.
Lonely canal side.
Haunted by poor horses dragging drunkard canal families to and fro.
Railway banks and chicken wire fences built up with a stratigraphy of old Tizer cans, Golden Wonder Crisps and MaxPax coffee cups.
All cleaned up and ripped away.
For a shimmering memory mirage of stadia, flags and hysteria.
But now, the grey clouds have descended once again and it is time for the ghosts of Stratford past to play amongst the concrete wastelands that are theirs forever.

2018-03-05T21:44:00.000+00:00

I wish all these religious things were as totally uncool as they were to me back in the 70s 80s 90s. We were all (mostly) happily post-religion. Going to see Billy Graham in Wembley stadium was as naff and undesirable as going to the Bingo with your nan. Nuns and vicars were dull as fuck. Oh well. If that's what people want. Just wish people weren't so into handing their brains over to god botherers these days.

Doing the Brexit shuffle

2017-12-10T17:29:00.004+00:00

It bugs
They dance
She cats
He dogs

Envelopes are sealed
Throats are frogged
Bins are maggoted

The Welsh are in fits
The English are stroking
The Cornish have a clavicle

So many merry men
And soldiers skipping lightly
Clink the trophy jars

Incoming Incoming
Rearrange flowers
Lobster lips in sticky clench

Viewer blocked
Hearts made to dangle
Liver me timbres

Enoch is not enough
Amen in the corner
Ghastly fish bowl reflection

Biffer Bacon
We slipped off the log
The goats are free

Look here
Amazing grace
Sung in an igloo

Pieces of after eight
Voodoo Vikings
A whiff of Roman oyster

Merry Christmas Jennifer Lawrence
Mines a Tenko Truck
You put a sock in it

We are where we are
You be won the win
Albion the other side

https://app.suno.ai/song/682127d3-e0f1-44fb-a2c3-e466a7df754f/

(click on the link to listen to an a.i. reading of this)

Me or You

2017-03-08T00:48:00.003+00:00

Me or you,
The emptiness of my stomach
After decades
Feels like a final wall with no door.
The maze with no exit.
But no matter,
In a jiffy the smell will pass,
I can get transported by Captain Kirk
or Spock. Whoever is at home.
I have taken a liking to streaky bacon.
Also limes.
I believe in limes. Squeeze them with your fingers.
Honest it is like a giver of truth.
Those green balls of organic acid.
Get the juice all over.
Limey limey limey
ziiiiiing
mmmmmmm
hot bathtub baby
little goat watching baaaaaaa
And I check my blood pressure now.
I have a little chart.
Bing Bong the heart it still beats mister man mister man oh mister man you is alive.
But Carrie no she dead mister man. Sorry.
Yeah and if you ever have a fruitfly problem just leave some wine in a bottle.
They all go in and they love it.
It's like a fruitfly spa. They get naked, drunk, swim shag. All that. No wonder they never come out.
Your half rotten bananas are safe!!!
Yes, that is good. Uneaten fruit. If I'm not going to benefit from the youthful elixir of ten boring blobs a day then no dang recumbent gene little fly that makes no sound is gonna get it neither.
So where was I.
Fixing to not die.
Syd Barrett was photographed in our back garden with a ginger cat.
Has to be our garden. I reckon some time in the 60s hobvisciouslee before my mum and dad and sister moved in.
Could be. would explain a lot.
All my psychedelic dreams.
The snail farm.
The action men.
The circus.
The Spaniards, Greeks, Texans etc.
Explains it all.
And now what do we get?
Curly Kale and couch to 5K.
Don't do it kids!!
I'm with Arnie - shag the maid.
May as well.

I gave her the blob

2017-02-08T00:06:00.004+00:00

Warrior Heart Pounders

2017-02-07T23:53:00.002+00:00

House price inflation

2017-02-03T22:52:00.002+00:00

House price inflation is not due to lack of supply of housing stock but to do with the dangerously high credit banks are permitted to lend.

People Farming

2016-11-27T19:02:00.000+00:00

"It doesn't take a genius to work out what ever-increasing house prices do to an economy. All that money is pissed away on rent or mortgages, with the only winners being the banks (which make a killing off the loans) and those who own more than one property (i.e. the wealthy). Everyone else drowns in debt or struggles to make ends meet, but each penny they spend on housing is a penny that is not spent elsewhere in the economy. More specifically, it is a penny that is not spent in areas of the economy that are actually productive, that actually employ people and that actually produce things.

This situation simply cannot continue. With ever-increasing house prices, employers have to pay higher wages, which in turn makes Britain less competitive on a global level. With no rent controls or restrictions on the numbers of properties people can own, a small number of people can effectively become feudal lords. That's not hyperbole: these people, who had capital to begin with and simply invested it in real estate before house prices got absurd, make millions of pounds simply by sitting on their asses and collecting rent each month. The people they live off actually work, and therefore contribute to society, but the landlords do not need to work - indeed, it is actually more lucrative to give up work altogether."

Ventured to the west and returned by way of the south

2016-02-04T21:24:00.002+00:00

Ventured to the west and returned by way of the south,

Damaged the axle of the wagon and she parted with the fight half started,

I called back and sent my echo bouncing off the canyon walls,

Eggnog on Tuesday without the wafers please,

So she came and delivered that fateful morn,

When I thought I woke with a yawn,

Don’t ask me why young inquisitive fawn,

She led me to the gilded palace of early dawn,

Where the range is home and we ride the slipstream in moonlight.

Ten tonnes of crystal meth

2016-02-04T21:22:00.002+00:00

Ten tonnes of crystal meth,

I couldn’t watch breaking bad because the nylon was too strong,

Instant sweat and bo

Like having a picnic on astroturf

So I got stuck in to game of thrones

Ee by gum,

Northern leather clad heroes smashing

Horrible roman perverts

Sweaty, yes, but smelly no.

All the grit and grime on screen did not have a whiff of stinky feet.

Same with Hobbit and Lord of the Rings.

No Odour. Pure clean mossy bank waterfall.

No noxious armpit stench.

But Break Bad, man that hummed. Turn it off I can’t take the smell.

Dead bodies, chemical labs, tension, surburban living rooms.

So I guess I’m a sucker for sweet smelling grime.

videogames sketches

2016-02-04T21:20:00.003+00:00

these are just some unfinished trial lines for when I was doing the
thing inspired by Video Games by Lana Del Rey

Running up the snowflake

Method acting cop show

Putting down the dog bowl

Teacher’s name is Vishnu

Friends in Modadishu

Playing hideous games

Kids in little cages

Being killed by sages

He loves me not

Imbolc

2016-02-04T21:10:00.003+00:00

This day of fire and woody growth

The birds are woken, the bulbs do stir

I dreamt of clouds all tinged with rainbow

I saw great whales on beaches tremble

Fierce storms of sun fire pulsed through space

And shook our earth’s magnetic cloak

The poles did dance and left their homes

They shifted hearts and minds unwell

Confused the course of mighty mammals

Boats did sink and bodies swelled

Some pink faced men did shout in shame

Blamed others for themselves to gain

Yet beyond this fight for oil and god

The sun fires flares as if to say

I’ve all the energy you need right here

I am your creator let’s make that clear

Many of us feel deep inside

The power of the moon and tide

Yet the ball of fire we know so well

We miss what it is trying to tell

And as I awoke on Imbolc morn

This message in my mind was born

I’ll write it down and read it out

And share it with a friendly crowd.

Heaven knows I’m chip shovelling now

2016-02-04T21:08:00.000+00:00

Heaven knows I’m chip shovelling now.

Dream on stiff granny chops!

Lanky William and his dandruff dandelion gerbil.

Gladys said never and I thought she meant harlequin baby.

Murmuring bushbabies in the dark night air terrified by Art Garfunkel’s vampire grimace.

Tether the hedgehog to the mainframe and sharpen your lawnmower blade.

I got hipss

2015-12-13T21:37:00.001+00:00

I got hipss ,

Theyre gyrating

And I’m losing control

Coz the techno

You’re supplying

Is rocking my soul

I did lay on for you a banquet

And you did feed on the feast

There were murmurs of a lighthouse

And an old fashioned leather seat.

Worshipping at dawn in a pleasant place

In stillness we gulped in understanding

The universe in our embrace

Then morning laughter

carried on to the day

Show each other the way thru

Emptiness where all is at play

This fairy inclined to speak

2015-05-02T20:59:00.001+01:00

From the base I protrude

Shuffled from the city's hidden

And yes I'll aid in all your glory

If you let me tell my story

My carpet swept rid angst and fear

Then see and feel my beauty magic near

http://myoldsketches.blogspot.com/2005/09/blog-post_112777520853198938.html

First entry in matt king's analogue book 2015

2015-04-28T01:26:00.001+01:00

My analogue revival

2015-04-28T01:25:00.001+01:00

Michael Rosen: Our gods: 'the city' and 'the markets'

2015-04-20T15:42:00.001+01:00

Michael Rosen: Our gods: 'the city' and 'the markets': I love the way in which commentators and experts say the words 'the city' and 'the markets'. They aren't given to us as ...

If, then (part two)

2015-04-18T22:25:00.003+01:00

If the wurlitzer played a moan alone by Rigsby,
If latitudes could be plucked by a pilotless jet plane,
If weddings and funerals were served up together on stormy Mondays,
If bucolic windmill sighs and slow mo recordings of buds opening were
last night of the prom show stoppers,
If memories of drifting fingers through ink black water and watching mesmeric phosphorescent trails could
be revived like a favourite play,

Then virtue would lay an unbreakable egg,
Then earth beams and girders would untangle and sing,
Then buff musclebound worms would fight the blackbird's beak,
Then wigwams and teepees would fly in to restore order,
Then Robert Maxwell would sip soup aboard a floating mirage.
Or perhaps a robin's nest would host Felicity Kendall's giggle.

So the first page of a new book…

2015-03-11T20:19:00.001+00:00

So the first page of a new book…

Was ist los?

Entschuldigungs bitte.

Deep fried and in the vein of murphy’s magical pig.

He wandered left right left.

Sheba purred and swam the breast stroke.

Kalamazoo in plimpsoles.

Mother did you hear they dropped the frogs?

Unt zertanks shall roll vonce again across the plain.

Hey buddy, I don’t like your jazz hands.

Put on these black lady muslim gloves.

I’m swaying side to side like a Latina groove.

Bottoms up, my beauty.

Hair like a badger.

That new labour dominatrix look.

You know the one

Phwoaar!

Beside the point. Carry on nurses.

Unglue the dressing.

Put down the up and sideways graft the sloppy bawbag meat.

Air hair lair.

My larynx performed with the footlights.

She went all squiffy.

Ooh no, robbed by a ghastly crack head again.

But that’s okay because there are large scale sandwiches in an upscale neighbourhood and jolly old Freddie will be ever so chummy.

The Icelandic warbles in a chill fm stylee about frozen fish, space dust and liquidised pixie glands.

Everything changes but knowing that won’t relieve your security anxiety.

Watt Watt!

Heaven knows we’re all Eastenders now.

Even Kathy.

Play the piana, the old Joanna – chompy stompy plinky plonk owz about that then me old kipper?

Enough you wurzel, turf off the hedgehog breath.

Never surrender said Paisley

2015-02-19T19:46:00.001+00:00

Never surrender said Paisley,

The pope is the devil so he is

China girl

Thriller

Merry Christmas Mister Lawrence

Ghandi

Pillboxes made from pixels

The bleeping of the zx days

Batman reruns

Televisualised brain

The cup that runneth over

No time for egghead ways of lateral thinking

EGGward deBONO

And I still haven’t found Wembley Stadium

Challenger

Kings Cross

Those deaths so distant

South Africa tyres on fire

Looks funny – not real

But drama, plays Singing Detectives

That’s real, oh no the boy saw his mum

Doing it in the bushes!

Is my mum doing it with the window cleaner?

Is my dad doing it with that woman?

Worse than tv deaths.

In fact U2 and CND and Amnesty were cool ,

Lets make this world a better place,

Peter Gabriel hugging Kate

I can relate

Can I get in between you

And have a little cry too?

But Thatch man

Thatcher woah and Tebbit and Northern Ireland, its ok because here is Ben Elton and he is gonna hug us and that cup of tea and chocolate biscuit with a cat purring on your lap feels all good again.

All curled up and safe once more.

Before “going to the pub”

But there is a party, and there is cider now

And maybe smoke a tiny bit of hash if you’re lucky.

Girls, yeah, but only for your friends, cause you are weird, and they sense that.

Oh well, but I’m reasonably good at maths.

O-level not A-level so much.

But I stepped out of the hatch, like that heavy metal musician who fell out of the coach when he mistook the fire exit for the toilet.

Now I’m here in front of a screen.

In some stranger’s house.

Gathering memories together and snuggling up inside them.

The 1980s – looks like the silvery paper from the inside of a packet of fags.

Sniff it. You can almost step back.

gathering dust

2015-02-19T19:10:00.000+00:00

gathering dust,

kookaburra

little old dandy randy

take me to Gerome

clinic sandwich

in the rough grass

hen party necklaces

foo yung egg slicer

lips of red nausea

follow me in the darkness

escape capsule

splashdown

break the glass

I’m not in love oh no

Trippy so trippy

Leashed and tethered

Somnambulant butcher

Cress in a small plastic tray

Recorder class behind glass bricks

Still waiting

Vanilla scoop

Have faith in the lack of time

It all ended and began

So luck and sorrow

And gloves and scarves

Toast the dawn

Stretch and avoid

The nagging doubts

Bollocks I was wrong

Need to blind some horses

Shout and curse

Push boulders from a cliff

Writhe in a hysterical naked fit

Hammer the earth with a fist

A primal scream

Warble lips um ga ga bumbly boo

Cuckoo miaow

Grab at woolly woolly things

Nuzzle

That tree loves me

That soil really cherishes me

Oh yes it is true

It cannot be denied

Yes the branches and leaves

2014-08-28T22:13:00.001+01:00

Snide pod

Mulligans

Beverley sisters

Mannish prod

Babycakes

Mish mash

Bubble trouble

Clumsy elf

Nifty badger

Choose your side

Aye or nay

Tufts of war

Greenwich hangover

Lovely scones

The trigger

Calamity

Boognish smiles

A frightened arc

Master and slave

Shozbot

Manic times

Europavision

Blood lakes

Infinite pool

Armageedon

My face painted blue

Knuckle duster

A table leg in a placcy bag

String vest philosopher

Dunoon again

My friend…

A Kilburn worker

2014-04-30T22:50:00.001+01:00

Exhausted itchy eyes

Been pumping it

Caffeine yeah

Back on top

I’m here for you

You are all around

Bumping hanging sitting round bottoming

Wrinkled beards and big finger rings on the sunny bench

Where Tennents Super sits proudly in distinguished blue

Need a top up

Eyes glide past racks of coloured fruit and veg

Dreams like this at age seven

2001 Jupiter flight over infinite perspective lego landscapes

Ever evolving and randomly propagating

This high street yeah

You can sing its song

Voice your thoughts aloud to an Irish folk tune

Do its memory justice

Leprefuckinggamblingchauns on the window of

What was Biddy Mulligans

Now a Ladbrokes for broke lads

I get my morning bananas from a bowl

In front of me the men and women get blue bags

Filled with cans of brew

Breakfast with a bang

I get served ahead of them, give the worker his healthy fruit

You wasters can wait, show the worker some respect.

**********

the cry on the street today is not spare change please - it is a desperate "buy me some fooood!" #London